


Leap of Faith

by lordjohnmarbury



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Fluff, Hockey Player Geno, M/M, Tattoo Artist Sid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 16:29:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21665623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordjohnmarbury/pseuds/lordjohnmarbury
Summary: “Oh my god,” Zhenya said, stopping dead in his tracks, catching Nealer before he face-planted into the sidewalk. “We should, like, get tattoo. We go now?”Flower started laughing. “You want to get a tattoo now, Geno? Where will even be open at this time of night?”“Is LA, like, everything open here. City never sleeps.”“Isn’t that New York?”“Not the point, Flower,” Zhenya rolled his eyes.
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 148





	Leap of Faith

Zhenya had always told himself that he’d get a tattoo when he either won Olympic gold or a Stanley Cup. Plenty of guys on the team had whole armfuls of completely meaningless tattoos: lions and skulls and koi fish that they’d gotten simply because they thought they looked cool. And while Zhenya thought that attaching excessive weight to the first time you had sex was a ridiculous notion, losing his tattoo virginity felt like a big deal. He was getting something permanently etched into his skin after all, and he wanted that first tattoo to really mean something. And what meant more to him than the goals he’d been working his whole life towards? 

Fourth place in Turin had been unbelievably frustrating, and left Zhenya even more desperate to make it onto the podium in 2010. But Olympic gold hadn’t happened in Vancouver, either, and nor had silver or bronze, for that matter. Zhenya took some small satisfaction from the fact that at least Team Canada, who had knocked Russia out in the quarter-finals, went on to an overtime loss against the USA. But it wasn’t much consolation. The next Olympics wouldn’t be for another two years, and whilst Zhenya was determined to finally secure a medal for Russia as the host nation in 2014, for now the Olympic rings on ribs (Zhenya was already decided on the size and location of his tattoo, because visualisation was, of course, an important part of athletic performance) would have to wait.

The last few years, the Stanley Cup playoffs had possibly been even more frustrating. After reaching the finals two years in a row, and both times falling to the Detroit fucking Redwings, Zhenya didn’t think things could get much worse. Until he tore his ACL and missed half the season and the entire playoffs. Not that the Penguins had stuck around very long in the post-season, but still. If he hadn’t won the Cup this time around, Zhenya was pretty sure he’d have gone on a Godzilla-style rampage through the streets of Los Angeles. Thankfully, instead, he was wandering through the streets of Los Angeles with a bottle of Dom Perignon in one hand and an absolutely wasted Nealer supported by the other. Duper and Flower were walking a few steps ahead of them, swaying almost as violently, and singing something in French that Zhenya couldn’t understand, interspersed with occasional shouts of STANLEY CUP CHAMPS BABY, which would be the cue for Nealer to shout _fuckin’ right_ and for Zhenya to whoop and cheer in demonstration of his appreciation of the sentiment. 

“Oh my god,” Zhenya said, stopping dead in his tracks, catching Nealer before he face-planted into the sidewalk. “We should, like, get tattoo. We go now?”  
Flower started laughing. “You want to get a tattoo now, Geno? Where will even be open at this time of night?”  
“Is LA, like, everything open here. City never sleeps.”  
“Isn’t that New York?”  
“Not the point, Flower,” Zhenya rolled his eyes. Trust Flower to pick holes in his excellent idea. At least Nealer and Duper were more supportive.  
“Fuck yeah, let’s get tattoos!” Nealer said excitedly. “Geno’s right, there’s bound to be a tattoo parlour around here that stays open late.”

Duper pulled out his phone and managed to locate on Google Maps a tattoo parlour that was only a couple of blocks from them. The guys made their way over, Nealer and Duper enthusiastically comparing their pain ratings for each of their respective half-sleeves. Zhenya couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. Nealer and Duper knew what they were getting into, but he really had no idea. What if it’s so painful he has to tap out and end up walking around with a half-finished tattoo for the rest of his life? What if he sneezes and makes the needle jerk and ruins the whole thing? There were a lot of variables at play.

They arrived at the tattoo parlour Duper had picked out, only to find that it was, in fact, closed. Not to be deterred, the guys headed towards another. Here, it turned out that being Stanley Cup champions didn’t carry quite as much weight as back home.  
“Sorry dudes, we’re not open for walk-ins,” a guy with a face full of piercings shrugged.  
“Here’s the thing,” Duper said, walking up to the tattoo artist, “Normally we wouldn’t ask you to, but we’re only in LA for one more night. We’d be happy to pay double whatever you charge, and we’re only looking for some very small tattoos. It really shouldn’t take long.”  
“We just won the Stanley Cup,” Flower helpfully added. “So they want to commemorate it.”  
“They?” Zhenya asked Flower accusingly. “You not get also?”  
“I’m just here for moral support,” Flower shrugged.  
“Do I look like I give a shit?” The tattoo artist rolled his eyes. “Come back another time when you’re sober to book an appointment, and then we can talk.”

*  
It probably was for the best, Zhenya decided as he boarded the plane home, clutching a bottle of Gatorade and praying for minimal turbulence. His roommate, Staalsy, had managed to snatch a couple of hours sleep at the hotel while Zhenya had spent the early hours of the morning hunched over the toilet bowl. If he’d actually gone ahead with the tattoo, he was pretty sure that he would have thrown up as soon as the needle touched his skin, and the chirping that would inevitably arisen from that would likely have lasted decades. Instead, Duper promised to research tattoo studios in Pittsburgh and to book them an appointment for in a few days time, when they would hopefully be somewhat less hungover. 

*

They arrived at the tattoo parlour Duper had picked out, still hungover from the victory parade, but thankfully in better shape than during their previous tattoo-seeking mission. Zhenya did still feel faintly nauseous, but wasn’t quite sure how much of that was attributable to his hangover, and how much to the fact he was about to have several vibrating needles stuck in his skin. He’d admit that drunk tattoos probably were not the best of ideas, but right now a little Dutch courage would surely have been useful.

The glowing neon sign above the shop spelled out the name Harbour Ink. Zheyna pushed the door open to see three tattoo artists in there: one sitting bent over a sketch on a table scattered with stencils and reference pictures, the other two chatting as they drank coffee and set up their equipment.  
The guy looked up from his work at the desk at the sound of them entering and made eye contact with Zhenya. He had softly waving dark hair and bright hazel eyes.  
“Oh. Wow.” His colleagues looked up at the sound of his awestruck voice, and the thick blond one let out a whoop.  
“Oh man! Kris said that you guys phoned to book an appointment, but I still can’t believe you’re here. Huge congrats, you guys.” He stood up to shake their hands in turn. “I’m Nate, by the way. Big Pens fan.”  
The man with long dark hair and arms full of ink who was standing next to him also reached out his hand.  
“Hi, I’m Kris. Congratulations on winning the Stanley Cup. Although, of course, you’ve still got a long way before you catch up to the Habs’ record.”  
The blond kid, Nate, grinned back at him. “We may live in Pittsburgh, but we’re all Canadian. And while I might have sworn my allegiance to the Pens, Kris hasn’t been quite so easily swayed.”  
“I’m from Montreal. It’s, like, illegal for me to support any other team. And I’m just saying, 24 Stanley Cups—”  
“Don’t mind Kris,” the guy closest to Zhenya rolled his eyes, and Zhenya had to pull himself away from noticing how the flecks of gold in his irises shone in the morning sun. “He’s just a little bitter that we can now say the Pens have won a cup more recently than the Habs. He’d been reminding us of that 1993 victory about once a week since we opened shop here. So I guess I should thank you personally for providing us with the opportunity to finally chirp him back. I’m Sid, by the way.”  
Sid reached out his hand for Zhenya to shake. 

Zhenya glanced down at the Japanese-style waves cresting across his thick forearm, before looking up to return the lop-sided grin. Zhenya had never really been into inked guys the way he knew Staalsy had a thing for girls with tattoos, but this guy was insanely hot. Zhenya felt a ball of warmth in the pit of his stomach as Sid squeezed his hand, and felt an imprint of pressure still against his palm even after Sid had moved on to shake Duper, Flower and Nealer’s hands. 

Duper and Flower started talking in rapid French to Kris, while Nealer started showing Nate pictures on his phone from last night’s celebrations, so Zhenya found himself sitting down opposite Sid to plan out his tattoo. Well, he wasn’t about to complain about that. Sid was wearing a tight black t shirt that exposed the intricate dragon circling his left bicep and down the curve of his elbow, and a guardian lion on his right. Zhenya couldn’t stop staring at them; at the piercing through the centre of Sid’s lower lip and the neat rows of silver hoops running up his ears. 

“What exactly are you looking for?” Sid asked Zhenya as they sat down with a portfolio of Sid’s work open in front of them. “Some script or a picture of the Cup?”  
“I’m think, like, outline of the cup, yes?” Zhenya had been brooding on designs since around 2007, so it was safe to say he had a good idea of what he wanted. “Inside shape of cup is like Penguins logo. You know, cup is like keyhole- look through keyhole and see picture?”  
“Oh, I get what you mean,” Sid nodded and started sketching in swift, confident strokes. Zhenya watched him work and noticed the shape of a hockey stick inked onto the outside of Sid’s hand, running from his wrist to the base of his finger.  
“You play hockey?” Zhenya asked, pointing at the tattoo.  
“Oh,” Sid blushed a little, and looked embarrassed. “Not anymore. And not like you guys. I only made it through one year of juniors before I quit.”  
“You must be good if you play junior,” Zhenya pointed out. “Where you play?”  
“I, uh, played for the Océanic in the QMJHL.” Sid frowned down at the piece of paper he was sketching on.  
“You get injured?” Zhenya asked softly.  
“I broke my wrist pretty badly. I was still able to skate, but I couldn’t shoot the same again, even after rehab.”  
“I’m sorry,” Zhenya whispered, mortified that he’d brought up such a depressing topic of conversation with a guy he was, well, kind of trying to flirt with.  
“It’s ok. These things happen,” Sid shrugged. He held out his left arm and showed Zhenya the peonies and chrysanthemums tattooed across his forearm. “Maybe it was even for the best. I got my first tattoo to cover up the surgery scars. I felt like the world was ending at the time, but it led me to a job I love, so who knows? Maybe everything does happen for a reason.”  
Before he can stop himself, Zhenya finds himself reaching over to lay a gentle hand over Sid’s wrist. He cursed his limited grasp of English and inability to voice how touched he was by Sid’s quiet strength. Zhenya was pretty sure that he wouldn’t have been able to deal with his hockey career crashing down with such a philosophical outlook.  
But he doesn’t know the words to voice that, so he settles with, “Is beautiful.”  
For a second he’s worried he might have overstepped some boundaries, but Sid responds with a glowing smile. 

*  
“Tell me when over. I’m not look.” Zhenya scrunched up his eyes and turned his head away so there was no chance he’d accidentally peek. Sid chuckled.  
“Geno, I promise you, you’ll be fine. I mean, if Nate can get tattooed, anyone can. He’s the world’s biggest baby.”  
“Hey, I object to that!” Nate called over from where he was tattooing Nealer. “I just have a lower pain tolerance threshold than you. That’s not my fault.”  
“Anyway,” Sid rolled his eyes. “Do you want to look one last time to make sure that the stencil is in the right place?”  
Zhenya tried to focus the stencilled design on his forearm and not on the ominous-looking machine in Sid’s hand. Logically Zhenya knew that the pain from a tattoo or an injection would never come close to the agony he’d experienced when he’d dislocated his shoulder or torn his ACL, but logic didn’t stop needles from freaking him out.  
“Yes is ok. Sorry if I faint.”  
“Just relax, bud.” Zhenya felt a warm, even pressure as Sid wrapped his fingers around his wrist, holding his arm steady, and forced himself to focus on that and not the buzzing sound coming from the tattoo gun in Sid’s other hand.  
“Oh.” Zhenya opened his eyes. It was just a slightly unpleasant scratching sensation; not much like an injection at all. Summoning up his courage, Zhenya looked down at his arm and was relieved to find that even looking at the vibrating machine moving across his skin didn’t bother him much, either.  
“It’s not that bad, eh?” Sid said without looking up from his work, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration but a lopsided grin creeping across his face.  
“No.” Zhenya looked down at Sid’s right hand moving in smooth, deft motions and his left still holding firmly yet gently onto Geno’s wrist. “Is not bad at all.”

*  
“I love it.” Zhenya couldn’t stop grinning as Sid carefully wrapped his arm in saran wrap to protect the fresh ink. “Is best. Thanks, Sid.”  
“You’re welcome.”  
They both stood up and Zhenya was acutely aware of Flower, Nealer, and Duper hovering behind him, already done with their less elaborate tattoos. Maybe if he were alone, he might have thrown caution to the wind and asked Sid on a date, but risking potential humiliation in front of the other guys? Absolutely not.  
“Here’s my business card,” Sid grabbed a card from a stack and held it out to him. “If you have any issues with the aftercare, don’t hesitate to call.”  
Zhenya took the card.

*

Zhenya was faced with a dilemma. On the one hand, he didn’t want to actually do anything that might mess with the healing of his tattoo. On the other hand, he desperately wanted an excuse to call the number on the business card tucked in his wallet. His tattoo started peeling a couple of days later. Zhenya, of course, had done his research and knew that this was perfectly normally. But Sid didn’t know that Zhenya knew that. He dialled the number.  
“Hello, this is Sid speaking.”  
“Hello, is Geno. You give tattoo, like, couple of days ago.”  
“Oh, hi Geno. Is everything ok with the tattoo?”  
“I’m still love it, but skin look like sunburn. I’m worry a little bit. Maybe I’m come to tattoo studio for you to look at it?” Zhenya felt his face burning hot with embarrassment as he said it, convinced that Sid would be unimpressed with his lame excuse for calling.  
“Of course, I’d be happy to take a look at it. Come by any time you like.” Sid’s voice was kind and warm and oh god, Zhenya was about to completely humiliate himself in front of a probably straight guy who was just very friendly and be haunted by the embarrassment for the rest of his life. But he hadn’t gotten this far in life without taking a few risks. If he could get a tattoo, he could deal with a potentially awkward conversation or two.

Zhenya turned up at Harbour Ink around noon the next day, to find Kris giving aftercare advice to a college-aged girl with what looked like fresh ink on her ankle. As she thanked him and turned to leave, Kris looked over and noticed Zhenya. His face split into a big grin.  
“Hey man!” He held out his fist for Zhenya to bump. “Are you looking for Sid? He and Nate just went out to grab some lunch. They’ll be back soon.”  
“That’s no problem. I can wait.” Zhenya shrugged. For a moment he leaned against the wall, studying the inch wide holes stretched into Kris’ earlobes, wondering if it had hurt to stretch them out so large, and whether asking that question would be considered rude or not. His eyes flicked to an ultrasound printout taped to the wall next to him.  
“This your baby?” Zhenya asked, pointing at the scan with forced casualness, while secretly praying that he wasn’t about to find out Sid was married with a wife and kids.  
“Yes,” Kris said proudly. “My girlfriend’s due in November. He’ll be our first.”  
“Congratulations,” Zhenya said. “The other guys, they have kids too?”  
“No, no, I’ll be the first out of the three of us. Nate’s, like, 18, so I don’t think he has any plans to settle down any time soon. And Sid broke up with his ex-boyfriend a while back.” Kris shrugged and Zhenya nodded blandly while internally cheering. Just as he was mentally complementing himself on his excellent detective work- a subtle conversational steer had been all that it had taken for him to find out that Sid was, in fact, into guys- the door behind him was pushed open and Sid and Nate walked in.  
Sid made eye contact with Zhenya and beamed at the sight of him, a crooked grin that made Zhenya’s stomach tie itself in knots. He was wearing a black button-down today which obscured most of the tattoos on his arms but revealed a flash of ink across his chest and collar bones.  
“Sorry Geno,” Sid said as he set a paper sandwich bag down on a table and pushed a hand into a pocket of his jeans. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”  
“No, no. Is no problem. And I talk to Kris, he tell me about baby. Very exciting.”  
“Yeah, I’m excited to meet the little guy when he arrives,” Sid said cheerfully. “So, let’s have a look at your tattoo. I suspect it’s nothing to worry about, but it’s always nice to set your mind at rest.”  
“I’m going to go get coffee,” Kris announced. “Nate, come with me.” He dragged Nate outside before he even had a chance to object. Ok, so maybe Zhenya hadn’t been as subtle as he though. Or maybe Kris was just very perceptive. Either way, he and Sid were now alone, and it was up to Zhenya to shoot his shot. 

Sid thoughtfully inspected Zhenya’s tattoo, gently running his fingers over the flaking skin. He looked up and nodded.  
“Yeah, it’s nothing to worry about. Just keep it moisturized, eh? We have a special lotion that you can try.”  
“Thanks, Sid.” Zhenya swallowed nervously, looking down at the sacred heart tattoo wrapped around Sid’s wrist before bringing his gaze up to meet his eyes. “It was silly question, but want to be sure. I have another question, maybe not so silly. Is ok if you not say yes, but I’m wonder if you like to go for dinner with me?”  
Zhenya’s heart was in his mouth. Sid slipped his fingers around Zhenya’s hand and squeezed.  
“I’d love to.”

**Author's Note:**

> In this AU, obviously Sid is not a hockey player and consequently his absence from the Pens has something of a butterfly effect. Without Sid, there's no golden goal at Vancouver 2010 and the US win gold instead. The Pens don't win a Stanley Cup in 2009, but they do manage to in 2012, which is when this fic is set.


End file.
